


you make me feel (like I've been locked out of heaven)

by cyanspark



Category: The Old Guard (Movie 2020)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Cooking, Fluff, Humor, M/M, YouTuber Joe, references to homophobic family, scientist Nicky
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-20
Updated: 2020-09-20
Packaged: 2021-03-07 19:35:16
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,716
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26562970
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/cyanspark/pseuds/cyanspark
Summary: Nicky di Genova, PhD, can’t cook.He’s too busy in the lab, researching cancer immunology, for anything other than living off ramen and takeout pizza.To salvage his reputation in front of his best friend, Nile, he tries to learn how to cook something—anything—and stumbles across the YouTube channel of an amazingly talented and gorgeous chef named Joe. Inspired by Joe’s videos, Nicky leaves a comment, never dreaming that their lives might be on a collision course and he’ll get to meet Joe in person...
Relationships: Joe | Yusuf Al-Kaysani/Nicky | Nicolò di Genova
Comments: 56
Kudos: 584





	you make me feel (like I've been locked out of heaven)

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, the logical conclusion to my [“what if Joe does the cooking”](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26069383) train of thought is “what if Nicky is an actual clueless dork in the kitchen” because I’m easily amused that way.
> 
> Title from “Locked Out of Heaven” by Bruno Mars because...the song got stuck in my head while I was writing, whoops.

“What do you mean, _you can’t cook_?”

Nicky tries to shrink into his sofa—all one hundred and eighty centimeters of him—while Nile Freeman stands in front of him with her hands on her hips and a judgmental stare. Somehow, Nile’s request to meet up that night so she can vent about how slowly her dissertation is progressing has ended with critiquing Nicky’s lack of culinary expertise.

“You’re _Italian_ ,” Nile exclaims. “You even grew up in Italy! You should be, like...the biggest food snob.”

“I didn’t say I _can’t_ cook,” Nicky says defensively. “I said I _don’t_ cook. I’m too busy.”

Nile rolls her eyes, nudging the pizza box on his coffee table with her knee. “Right. And that’s why you apparently eat microwave meals and instant noodles and order pizza every week?”

“Beggars can’t be choosers.”

Nile sighs and flops down on the sofa beside him. “Oh, Nicolò. Somewhere in Genoa, your ancestors are rolling in their graves at the idea of you eating Domino’s.”

He snorts. “I’m sure they will forgive me once my NIH grant is approved.”

Nile pats his arm encouragingly. They don’t work in the same building, or even in the same field; Nile is writing her dissertation on ancient Greek history under the guidance of famed historian Dr. Andromache Smith, while Nicky is researching cancer immunology in the lab of Dr. Sebastien Le Livre.

(Actually, Nicky is technically _Dr. di Genova_ now. Sometimes, he forgets—especially when he wakes up in a cold sweat from a nightmare about having to defend his dissertation all over again.)

But they met at a young professionals mixer on campus and hit it off. And now Nicky has something to do other than spend all night in the lab, dozing off while he waits for his latest PCR to finish.

“So, if you _can_ cook, what do you actually cook when you’re not writing grants?”

“...Pasta?” Nicky heroically resists the urge to flinch under Nile’s look.

“Are we talking _make your own ravioli from scratch_ , or _boil some spaghetti and eat it straight from the pot_?”

“That,” says Nicky, “still counts as cooking.”

“Come on, Nicky. You’ve been freed from the hell of dissertation-writing. You don’t need to live like a sad grad student anymore.”

The problem is, Nicky has spent so long ( _six years, Santa Maria, madre di Dio_ ) living on a grad student stipend that he doesn’t know how not to live that way anymore. Calculating the perfect ratio of the price of a meal to the shortest possible prep time has become second nature. Plus, it’s not like his postdoc salary is that much of an upgrade—it’s just enough to pay rent and utilities, food, and occasionally splurge on a movie or sushi restaurant if he’s careful about spending.

“Just saying,” Nile goes on. “It’s easy to learn how to cook these days by watching YouTube videos. All you have to do is search ‘easy recipes’ or something like that.”

“I’ll think about it,” Nicky grumbles.

After Nile leaves, he reheats the last cold piece of the pizza he’d ordered and...okay, maybe she has a point. Maybe he _should_ stop living like a grad student.

*

Nile is a liar. Cooking is _hard_.

First, Nicky has to plan ahead instead of ordering takeout based on whatever he feels like that evening or eating whatever is left in his fridge. Then, he has to make sure that he buys enough groceries for what he wants to cook, but not too much that he can’t use up the produce before it goes bad.

It’s just. It’s so much _thinking_ (about something other than science).

And so much _time_. In the two hours it takes him to make a ratatouille, he thinks about the experiments he could’ve run, or how many words he could’ve written for his latest paper, instead. With those thoughts in his head, he feels distinctly unsatisfied as he shovels forkfuls of cooked vegetable into his mouth.

The (probably unintended) side effect of Nile’s advice is that Nicky finds he likes watching other people cook way more than actually cooking himself. Especially when it comes to complicated cooking. Actually making a beef bourguignon himself? Gives him a headache just thinking about it. But watching someone _else_ do it? A very entertaining way to spend ten minutes. He breezes through the videos from the larger YouTube channels before the mysterious proprietary algorithms recommend him a video from a smaller channel called _Not Your Average Joe’s Cooking_.

Honestly, Nicky only clicks into the video because he thinks the thumbnail is supposed to be of a frittata, yet that doesn’t match up with the title. But as soon as he sees the person who’s the subject of the video, his jaw drops.

“Hey, everyone,” says the Adonis who now graces Nicky’s screen with dark, twinkling eyes and a warm smile. “I’m Joe from _Not Your Average Joe’s Cooking_. Today, I’d like to share a recipe for Tunisian tajine. Unlike Moroccan or Algerian tajine, Tunisian tajine is more like a frittata…”

Joe’s voice is mesmerizing, his face so beautiful that by the time the video is over, Nicky has no idea what he actually said.

Though, he’s all too happy to replay the video from the beginning.

Twenty videos later, Nicky checks the time and realizes that, oops, it’s already one AM in the morning.

*

Nicky hasn’t changed his opinion about cooking, but he decides to give it another try.

Not because he’s been watching a hot guy explain how to cook...well...okay, maybe that. But also, Joe is an amazingly eloquent speaker. Each video is accompanied by fascinating facts about the dish in question and Joe’s description of the flavors of the dish as he taste-tests it at the end, the words so vivid and lyrical that they’re like poetry.

(Nicky totally does not watch him taste his own handiwork, eyes fluttering shut as he chews and swallows, like a creeper.)

Joe’s videos cover a variety of cuisines around the Mediterranean, including Italian (oh, how Nile would laugh at Nicky needing someone else to explain how to cook Italian food to him). Though Nicky likes watching his videos about Maghrebi cuisine the most, he decides to start with an Italian recipe in the hopes that he’ll be less likely to fuck it up.

And somehow, though cooking is no less work than it was before, it’s more...bearable, having Joe’s videos to follow along with, his soft, rich voice filling Nicky’s kitchen as he chops and boils.

Sometimes, it’s almost fun.

*

“On a scale of one to ten, how much should I expect to end up with food poisoning by the end of tonight?”

“Ha-ha, very funny, Nile,” Nicky says sarcastically, as he places a plate of chicken piccata in front of her on the table. “Weren’t you the one saying I should be able to cook just because I’m Italian?”

Nile shrugs innocently as she cuts a piece of chicken and takes a bite. Even though Nicky is fairly confident in the result, he still finds himself scanning Nile’s expression anxiously.

“Wow,” Nile finally says. “This is actually pretty good.”

“Thank you.” Nicky pauses. “Well, I guess you should thank _Not Your Average Joe’s Cooking_. I just followed his recipe.”

“Who is this?”

“It’s a YouTube channel I found…”

Nicky shows her Joe’s channel on his phone and tells her all about the videos. Nile navigates to one of them and presses play. A few seconds in, she’s grinning so widely, she looks like she’s a second away from bursting into laughter. “Oh, I can definitely see why you watch these videos. This guy is _hot_.”

Nicky’s _face_ is hot as he snatches his phone back. “His videos are very helpful.”

“Uh-huh.”

“You’ve seen the results!”

“I’m sure you were _very motivated_ after watching him,” says Nile, with a wink.

Nicky huffs, not bothering to dignify that with a response as he stuffs a piece of chicken into his mouth.

Nile takes out her own phone and scrolls through it as he chews. “It looks like he’s on Twitter. Have you talked to him?”

Nicky almost chokes. “No? I’m not on Twitter, and even if I was…”

“Why not? He seems pretty responsive to other people on Twitter.”

Even though they’re both millennials, sometimes Nicky feels nine hundred years old next to Nile. He’s never figured out how befriending people on social media is supposed to work.

Nile waggles her eyebrows at him. “He could be single…”

“Probably not,” Nicky says, quickly (no way is someone as hot and as talented in the kitchen as Joe still single), “and anyways, I’m not going to flirt with a guy I don’t even know on Twitter!”

“How many times did you say you’ve watched his videos again?”

Nicky sputters, “That just makes it even weirder. I mean, it’s not like you _know_ someone after seeing them on YouTube.”

Nile shrugs. “If you say so.”

*

The thing is, Nicky has social anxiety.

He spends ten hours a day in the lab on average, patiently running experiments with the utmost care. He is genuinely dedicated to unraveling the mysteries of the immune system, but he is also the furthest thing from an extrovert. Up until he’d met Nile, he’d barely had any friends outside of his principal investigator, Dr. Le Livre (who insists on everyone calling him Booker, because he’s sick of “damn Americans butchering” his last name).

Nor does Nicky find it easier to talk to people on the internet. “Have you _seen_ how mean people are online?” he told Nile once. Plus, his anxiety can’t handle the idea that once you post a comment, it’s there, set in stone, forever (well, unless you delete it, but that’s not conducive to internet friendships, either).

But. Well. Shortly after that conversation with Nile, Nicky realizes that _Not Your Average Joe’s Cooking_ doesn’t have a lot of followers, relatively speaking. And once he’s noticed this, he’s genuinely upset.

There have been fewer videos uploaded recently, too; maybe Joe is busy with his day job (he certainly doesn’t have enough followers to make a living from YouTube), or...or maybe, he’s getting discouraged.

So, Nicky takes a deep breath and decides to make a Twitter account so he can reply to one of Joe’s tweets.

(Commenting on YouTube would be easier, but YouTube comments... _yikes_. He isn’t brave enough to wade into that arena.)

He’s regretting his decision twenty minutes later, after he’s started and deleted his tweet about half a dozen times and is scowling at his phone in frustration. He wants it to be sincere and yet not generic. Damn it, socializing is _hard_. But now he’s committed, so he can’t back out. Sunk cost and all that.

@NicolodiGenova

Replying to @NYAJoesCooking

This is a great video! The picatta came out perfectly and I was finally able to serve my friend something delicious for dinner. Thank you!

Having spent way too much time composing this one tweet, Nicky puts his phone down and watches an episode of the newest popular Netflix show. It’s not until much later, when he’s in bed, that he decides to check his Twitter notifications to see if Joe ever responded.

He did.

@NYAJoesCooking

My pleasure! I’m glad the chicken picatta passed muster and you and your friend enjoyed it! :)

Nicky’s heart is beating a mile a minute, as though Joe is the first person he’s communicated with in years. Turning his phone off, he buries his head under his pillow. He really needs to chill over a frankly very ordinary tweet.

*

Nicky doesn’t sleep all night.

*

Booker is saying something. The words swim through the cotton stuffing of Nicky’s sleep-deprived brain without registering as he waits by the coffee machine for his second espresso of the morning.

“Huh? What’d you say?” he asks, stifling a yawn.

(And to think he used to pull all-nighters in grad school. He’s only thirty and already beginning to feel the effects of aging.)

Booker’s eyebrow lifts. “I’m going to take that as a yes, because you just spoke in Italian.”

Nicky doesn’t have enough caffeine in him to even feel embarrassed. _Need. Coffee._ He carefully picks up the styrofoam cup and takes a cautious sip.

Booker crosses his arms, smirking slightly. “Who’s the guy?”

“Um...guy?” Nicky repeats, reasonably sure he’s speaking English this time.

“The guy who clearly kept you up all night.”

The coffee goes down the wrong pipe, and Nicky nearly coughs up a lung.

“ _Nobody_ ,” he insists. “I just couldn’t sleep last night.”

“Ah. That’s too bad. I thought you’d finally found a life outside of the lab.”

“What’s wrong with living in the lab?”

“Nicky,” Booker sighs. “You’re already the first to arrive and the last to leave every day, _and_ you work weekends. It wouldn’t kill you to have _one_ other thing in your life besides science.”

Nicky grunts over his espresso.

*

He figures that tweeting again one week later will have a minimal chance of making him come off as weird or stalkerish.

@NicolodiGenova

Replying to @NYAJoesCooking

I can’t believe I’ve never had shakshouka before. Now that I’ve tried it, I’ll definitely be making it again. Thanks for sharing this recipe!

@NYAJoesCooking

Thank you for the kind comment! Introducing people to new food is something I love doing :)

@NicolodiGenova

I’ve definitely learned so much about Maghrebi cuisine from your videos. They’re so informative and enjoyable to watch, and it’s clear you put so much thought and care. I can’t wait for the next one!

Two hours later, as he waits by the centrifuge, Nicky thinks his tweet might’ve been _too_ enthusiastic. Oh well, too late now, he thinks.

*

The last thing he expects is a DM a few days later.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Hey! I just wanted to thank you for your comment the other day. I’ve been having a rough few days at work and your tweet made me smile. So thank you.

Cue an entire day of panic for Nicky as he tries to figure out how to respond. It’s nearing midnight before he’s able to compose a reply.

**NicolodiGenova** : I’m happy I was able to cheer you up.

And then he adds, before he can second-guess himself:

**NicolodiGenova** : Is there anything I can help with?

To his surprise, Joe responds within minutes.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Probably not, but thank you for asking. I’ve had to redo an entire project in a week due to harsh feedback and it’s been tough.

**NicolodiGenova** : That sounds very stressful. I’m sorry.

**NYAJoesCooking** : I do love my job most of the time, I just sometimes have to deal with megalomaniacs who take my work for granted.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Anyway, it’s late (where I am, at least) so I’ll stop whining about my day job.

**NicolodiGenova** : It’s fine. I don’t mind at all. Everyone needs to vent about their day jobs.

**NicolodiGenova** : I love my job too, but having to write grants is extremely stressful.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Are you a scientist?

**NicolodiGenova** : I am.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Nice

**NYAJoesCooking** : What do you research?

**NicolodiGenova** : Immunology

**NicolodiGenova** : Specifically cancer immunology, trying to figure out ways to mobilize the immune system against tumors.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Wow

**NYAJoesCooking** : You’re doing important work.

**NicolodiGenova** : Trying my best, at least.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Should I be calling you Dr. di Genova?

**NicolodiGenova** : You don’t have to.

**NYAJoesCooking** : I mean, if I spent years getting a PhD, I’d make everyone call me “Dr.”

**NicolodiGenova** : Haha

**NYAJoesCooking** : Okay, I should seriously go to sleep, but thanks for chatting with me.

**NicolodiGenova** : My pleasure!

**NicolodiGenova** : Goodnight.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Goodnight!

*

Nicky isn’t sure if he’s allowed to DM Joe again. Does that go against Twitter etiquette? What _is_ Twitter etiquette, anyway? (He should’ve asked Nile about this _before_ he started tweeting...)

While he’s still debating that question, Joe surprises him with another DM a week later.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Hey! Hope you’re doing well. This is pretty random, but I wanted to ask you a question, if you don’t mind.

Nicky’s poor heart isn’t going to be able to take much more of this. Maybe he should look into mindfulness classes or something...

**NicolodiGenova** : Not at all.

**NYAJoesCooking** : What do you do when you feel like you’re losing motivation for something you should do?

Wait. Is Joe...asking Nicky for advice?

Is Nicky even qualified to give any advice?

He agonizes for several minutes before responding.

**NicolodiGenova** : Well, if it’s something for my job, I remind myself that my work could help people in the future? I don’t know if that’s helpful at all.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Ah, right, you’re working on life-saving research.

**NYAJoesCooking** : What about something that you’ve been doing for fun?

**NicolodiGenova** : I don’t want to out myself as a loser, but I pretty much spend all of my time in the lab…

**NYAJoesCooking** : That’s serious dedication.

**NYAJoesCooking** : To be honest, I’ve been thinking a lot about my Youtube channel recently.

**NYAJoesCooking** : You’ll probably think I’m terrible, but even though I love making the videos and sharing recipes, it’s difficult sometimes to justify the amount of time I spend when I look at the number of followers and comments I get.

Nicky swallows hard.

**NicolodiGenova** : I don’t think you’re terrible at all.

**NicolodiGenova** : I admire you for spending so much time on a labor of love.

**NicolodiGenova** : But even for things we love, it’s difficult to spend time and energy and not receive any compensation, whether that’s money or recognition.

**NicolodiGenova** : I’ve really enjoyed watching your videos. I’ve learned a lot, and they’ve motivated me to learn how to cook. But when it comes to your channel, you should do whatever feels right for you.

**NicolodiGenova** : Just know that you’ve made a difference in one person’s life, at least.

Joe doesn’t respond right away. Maybe he’s busy, or maybe he needs time to process.

The next morning, Nicky wakes up and sees the new DM on his phone.

**NYAJoesCooking** : That means more to me than you know.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Thanks for being here.

*

“Wait. Are you smiling at your phone?”

Nicky reflexively tucks his phone back into his pocket. “Uh. No.”

Nile raises an eyebrow. She’s biting the corner of her lip as though she’s trying to hide a gleeful smile. “Did you make a Twitter account?”

“I’m not telling you.”

“ _Nicky_ ,” she protests, as they move up the line at Starbucks. “If you don’t tell me, how am I supposed to follow you on Twitter?”

“If you follow me on Twitter, then you’ll see my tweets.”

“That’s the point.” She tilts her head. “How risqué are these tweets of yours if you don’t want me to see them?”

“They _aren’t_ ,” Nicky splutters. “I just...don’t need you teasing me any more than you already do.”

She sighs, flapping a hand at him. “Never mind. I’m sure I’ll be able to find your account. You probably named it ‘NicolodiGenova’ or something uncreative like that.”

...Busted.

*

**NicolodiGenova** : I’m cursed. I’m definitely cursed.

**NYAJoesCooking** : What happened?

**NicolodiGenova** : [image of burnt ragù]

**NYAJoesCooking** : Oh dear

**NicolodiGenova** : I can’t let my friend know. I’d never live it down.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Why not?

**NicolodiGenova** : She is endlessly entertained that I’m an Italian who isn’t a perfect cook.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Well, no one’s perfect.

**NYAJoesCooking** : You’re already a brilliant scientist after all.

**NicolodiGenova** : I think you mean I’m a postdoc who slaves away in the lab so I can convince the NIH to fund my research.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Same thing.

*

“Your Twitter profile is boring,” Nile informs him when they meet for lunch. “You should at least upload a profile picture.”

Nicky bites off the end of a French fry. “Why would I do that?”

“So that, if you ever bump into Joe on the street, he’ll at least recognize you.”

“That’s never going to happen,” Nicky scoffs.

*

**NicolodiGenova** : I made the focaccia last night. It was delicious.

**NYAJoesCooking** : I’m glad!

**NicolodiGenova** : It reminds me of the focaccia my mother and grandmother used to make when I was a kid

**NicolodiGenova** : Or figassa, as my grandmother called it in Genoese

**NicolodiGenova** : Though the ingredients were slightly different...I don’t remember what they used.

**NYAJoesCooking** : I’ll bet they make amazing Italian food.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Is your family in Italy?

**NicolodiGenova** : Yep.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Do you visit them often?

Nicky still hasn’t figured out how to respond to that question when Joe sends another DM ten minutes later.

**NYAJoesCooking** : I’m sorry if that was a personal question.

**NicolodiGenova** : No, it’s not.

**NicolodiGenova** : I’m just

**NicolodiGenova** : not close to my family

**NYAJoesCooking** : I’m sorry.

**NicolodiGenova** : Not your fault.

**NicolodiGenova** : They’re very Catholic and have a problem with me being gay.

It’s not until after he sends the DM, almost without thinking, that he has a moment of panic.

Nicky is reserved by nature. He doesn’t typically volunteer information about his sexual orientation out of the blue, though he’s not particularly afraid of mentioning it when asked. Still, the admission always triggers a moment of fear in his lizard brain, bringing back the memory of how his family in Italy reacted to his coming out.

But talking to Joe feels so... _easy_ . Like he’s known him for a long time. Which is ridiculous, because as he told Nile, watching someone’s YouTube videos doesn’t mean Nicky _knows_ them.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Damn

**NYAJoesCooking** : That really sucks

**NYAJoesCooking** : Sorry.

**NicolodiGenova** : Anyway, that’s why I don’t know the family recipe for focaccia

**NicolodiGenova** : Or how to cook at all, really

**NYAJoesCooking** : Sounds like you’re getting better, though.

**NicolodiGenova** : I have help from this amazing chef.

Oh God, Nicky thinks, as he stares at what he just wrote. _Help_.

Is he actually flirting with a guy whose YouTube videos he’s watched, like, fifty times?

**NYAJoesCooking** : Tell me more *smiley emoji*

Nope. Nope, nope, _nope_. Nicky is _not_ prepared for this conversation. Except it’s too late to back out now without making Joe think he’s icing him out.

He swears at himself in English. Then he swears at himself in Italian. Then he tries to think of something articulate and insightful to say.

**NicolodiGenova** : He posts these amazing videos and talks so beautifully about cooking that he convinced me to try learning again, after I wanted to give up.

He’s pretty sure this is the dumbest message in the history of dumb messages. Joe waxes poetic about sea salt and spices and flavors that harmonize with each other; the best Nicky can come up with is “amazing” and “beautiful.”

He mopes for a few minutes before slinking off to his bathroom to brush his teeth and scrub his linguistic incompetence from his mind. Afterward, though, he checks his phone and sees that Joe responded.

**NYAJoesCooking** : That is the nicest thing anyone has ever said about my videos.

**NYAJoesCooking** : Thank you.

That night, Nicky falls asleep with a smile on his face.

*

“Hey, Nicky.”

Nicky finishes pipetting and turns to the doorway. “Hey, Booker.”

Booker clears his throat. “I’m meeting a friend for dinner today at Bei Ricordi. Do you want to come?”

“Uh...sure,” Nicky says, out of politeness, even though Booker has failed to clarify whether “a friend” meant someone he’d met at the gym or a world-renowned expert on cancer epigenetics.

At the end of the day—once he’s had time to finish his experiments, strip off his lab coat, and regret agreeing to attend a social event without knowing any of the details—he asks Booker about his “friend,” anxious to know if he should have his networking cap on. Also, if he should sprint back to his apartment first to change out of the jeans and comfortable black hoodie he’d thrown on this morning.

“Oh, no, Yusuf isn’t a scientist,” Booker says. “He does graphic design and video editing for a cancer nonprofit. He’s an alumnus—” Booker waves his hand toward the campus, “—and he was here for some undergrad panel about career choices and stuff.”

Nicky relaxes. “Oh. That’s pretty cool.”

They chat informally about how Nicky’s experiments have been going as they walk to Bei Ricordi, the classiest Italian restaurant that’s a reasonable distance from the campus. When they step inside, Nicky sees Nile and Dr. Smith seated at one of the tables.

“Nile,” Nicky says, pleasantly surprised as Nile greets him with a hug. “You’re here, too?”

“That’s my line.” Nile glances at her mentor. “I thought Yusuf was Andy’s friend.”

“He’s our mutual friend,” Andy clarifies. She nods at Booker. “Book. Nice to see you outside of the lab. I was afraid you’d become a vampire.”

“Andy,” Booker acknowledges. “Glad to see you’re still in one piece after that incident with the British Museum.”

“Asshole,” she mutters, but she’s smiling at him.

(Nicky almost wants to ask about what happened. Based on what Nile’s told him, he has an easier time picturing Andy as an Indiana-Jones-esque archaeologist wielding a battle axe than a professor who grades papers from undergrads.)

“So where’s the guest of honor?” Booker asks, just as the front door opens and a man in a leather jacket walks in—

Nicky just about has a heart attack on the spot.

The man walking toward them is _Joe_.

Is this a dream? Nicky wonders if his soul has detached from his body somehow and ascended to some alternate plane of existence. He is frozen in a surreal moment—surreal, that is, except for Nile insistently elbowing him in the side.

Fortunately, Joe’s— _Yusuf’s_ —attention is distracted by Andy and Booker, who both hug him and exclaim that it’s been too long. Nile steps forward to introduce herself, shaking his hand.

And then those dreamy dark eyes turn to him.

And Nicky’s mind goes completely blank.

“I—uh—I’m Nicky,” he squeaks.

He probably sounds deranged. Yusuf is staring at him, and Nicky feels like he’s ready to die now. Is this Hell? It feels a lot like Hell.

Nile clears her throat, the sound as sudden as a gunshot. “ _Dr. Nicolò di Genova_ here works in the biology department.”

Really, Nicky should’ve thought of this—they’ve had an entire conversation about how _you should make people call you Dr. di Genova_ , for Christ’s sake—because he sees the instant the lightbulb goes off in Yusuf’s head, the look of puzzled politeness wiped away by a stunned, wondrous smile that steals all the oxygen from Nicky’s lungs.

“Oh!” Yusuf says. “It’s very nice to meet you, Dr. di Genova.”

“J-just Nicky is fine,” Nicky wheezes. “And, um, nice to meet you too.”

Booker looks like he’s trying to hold back a laugh. Even Andy has an amused expression. Nicky is still silently questioning his life choices as they all sit around the table. He honestly can’t tell if he’s excited or terrified, because how the hell are you supposed to act when you finally meet the guy whose videos you’ve been obsessively watching for the past several months?

Mercifully, Booker and Andy steer the conversation for a while after they order their food. It’s clear that Yusuf is every bit as charming in person as he is on YouTube, carrying himself with the sort of easy self-confidence Nicky has always envied. Nicky learns a bit more about Yusuf’s nonprofit organization, that Yusuf is quadrilingual (English, Dutch, French, _and_ Arabic) and that he’s a freelance illustrator, which is how he met Andy when she commissioned him for an illustration—seriously, is there anything this man _can’t_ do?

Nicky should...probably insert himself into the conversation by asking Yusuf some intelligent, thoughtful questions, but his mind still seems to be stuck on the “white noise” setting. That is, until Yusuf turns the full force of his magnetic smile on Nicky and asks about his research.

“Uh...yes. I research cancer immunology,” Nicky croaks, as though he hasn’t told Yusuf that already, and for lack of literally anything else in his brain at the moment proceeds to more or less recite the abstract for the paper he’s been drafting, even though it’s _way_ too technical for any non-immunologist to understand and he can tell Nile’s eyes are glazing over.

_This is why you don’t have friends, Nicolò_ , he tells himself. _No normal human being thinks “NK cells” and “OX40” are words that should be used in casual dinner conversations._

“And, uh,” he stammers, “all of this is important because if we can get the immune system to attack tumors, then we can ideally prevent cancer-related deaths and reduce the suffering of cancer patients.”

Yusuf, miraculously, manages to look interested instead of bored. He clearly has an amazing poker face.

“Wow,” he says. “I can see why Sébastien was so excited to have you join his lab.”

Oh no. Nicky can’t handle Yusuf being nice to him after his scientific word vomit. He’s pretty sure he’s blushing and would still like to disappear into the floor right about now.

He’s saved by the arrival of their food.

Nile prompts him to tell some stories about growing up in Italy, and the conversation flows light and easy for the rest of the night. Nicky doesn’t say much, just smiles and laughs at the others’ jokes, but sometimes he looks over and catches Yusuf’s eyes on him, brilliant and warm.

Two hours pass in the blink of an eye. After dinner wraps up, they spill out of the restaurant onto the street, and Nicky stands there awkwardly, his hands tucked into the pocket of his hoodie, as Andy and Booker hug Yusuf again while saying their goodbyes. It would _probably_ be awkward if he hugged Yusuf as well...right?

“You headed back?” Andy asks Yusuf casually.

Yusuf clears his throat. “Actually...I think I’ll get some coffee first. Where’s the nearest Starbucks?”

Booker practically pounces as though he’s been waiting for his cue. “I’m sure Nicky will be glad to show you. He spends so much time there, he practically lives at Starbucks. Right, Nicky?”

That is not even remotely true, but he should probably take this blatantly transparent opportunity for him and Yusuf to talk.

“Sure,” he says, with a smile that hopefully doesn’t look too panicked.

He waves goodbye to the others—Nile flashes him a grin and two thumbs up when Yusuf isn’t looking—and then it’s just the two of them.

They walk side by side down the street, close enough that their arms are almost brushing, and Nicky tries not to hyperventilate.

“So, ‘just Nicky,’” says Yusuf, in a teasing tone. “I guess this isn’t what you expected today, huh.”

Nicky drags his hands over his face as though blocking his line of sight will make anything better. “I’m sorry, this is just...kind of a shock. Meeting you in person. Today. Um.”

Yusuf chuckles gently. “I thought for sure you’d live on the other side of the country. I still can’t believe we’ve been in the same city this entire time.”

“Small world,” Nicky says, which sounds less cheesy than _it’s like destiny_ at this point, and is rewarded with a smile.

Yusuf drifts closer to him. “Seriously, though, it’s nice to finally be able to put a face to your name. You didn’t even put up a profile picture on Twitter to warn me.”

“Warn you?” Nicky echoes, confused.

Yusuf arches an eyebrow. “That you are one of the most beautiful men I’ve ever laid eyes on.”

Nicky almost falls right off the sidewalk. Never, even in his most outlandish dreams, has he ever imagined Yusuf of _Not Your Average Joe’s Cooking_ saying something like that to him.

“Uhhh,” he stammers, because how can he possibly respond? He glances around, hoping to use Starbucks as an excuse to hit pause on this conversation while he comes up with a reply, except they’re nowhere near Starbucks. In fact, they’re...

“Oh, _shit_ ,” Nicky exclaims, his cheeks burning. His brain had completely turned off while he’d been talking to Yusuf and, out of habit, he’d walked straight back to his apartment. “This is where I live. Sorry. Uh, I think the nearest Starbucks is—”

“That’s okay.” Yusuf’s eyes are actually sparkling.

And, Jesus Christ, Nicky clearly has no game whatsoever because it takes him a full minute of standing on the sidewalk to realize that he should _invite Yusuf into his apartment, Nicolò, you absolute idiot_.

“I,” he says, tripping over the word and turning it into an awkward drawl before rushing through the rest of his sentence, “can make coffee!”

Why that comes out sounding triumphant, as though making coffee is an arcane riddle he’d solved instead of something 99% of academics know how to do, is the saddest mystery of Nicky’s increasingly ridiculous life.

“That would be lovely,” Yusuf says, somehow managing to sound like he’s not laughing at Nicky’s lack of smoothness.

Nicky does not drop his keys as he tries to unlock his apartment door. He also does not stub his toe against said door and nearly fall flat on his face while letting Yusuf in. Mercifully, his apartment isn’t _that_ messy today.

“So…” Nicky clears his throat, not sure why his voice sounds so high-pitched all of a sudden. “Coffee?”

“Sure. Do you have decaf?”

That stumps him.

“Uh...sorry, no.” Nicky deflates. “I pretty much run on caffeine, so I never thought about buying decaf...I do have chamomile tea. If you want any. Unless you don’t drink chamomile tea, which is totally fine.” _Porca miseria, stop rambling!_ he silently berates himself.

“That would be great,” says Yusuf, still smiling.

Nicky fills his electric kettle and sets it to boil. Yusuf has settled on his couch and is looking at the books scattered on Nicky’s coffee table with apparent interest.

“ _An Islamic History of the Crusades_?” he asks.

Nicky wanders over to him and, not sure what else to do, ends up sitting next to Yusuf on his couch, rubbing his clammy palms against his jeans. “Yeah, um...I am, as Nile would say, a nerd. According to family legend, one of my ancestors fought in the First Crusade...but, uh, we don’t have to talk about that,” he adds hastily, because (a) who cares about his family history, and (b) the Siege of Jerusalem doesn’t exactly make for lighthearted or romantic conversation.

“Sorry,” he rushes on, with an awkward laugh, because he is seriously the most awkward of awkward people and now vividly remembers why his previous dating attempts ended in horrible failure, “I’m not used to having guests and, um, I know we’ve talked on Twitter and stuff, but, uh, it’s still kind of...I have to remind myself that even if I’ve watched your videos fifty times that doesn’t mean I really _know_ you, even though I’d like to get to know you, I mean, oh, crap…”

Yeah, he might as well start digging his grave now. He buries his flushed face in his hands. _Here lies Nicolò di Genova, who dropped dead from embarrassment after making a fool of himself in front of his YouTube crush._

“Hey,” Yusuf murmurs. The couch dips, as though he’s shifting closer to Nicky. “I’d like to get to know you, too.”

Nicky reluctantly peers through his fingers. “You...would?”

“No,” Yusuf deadpans. “I followed you back to your apartment because I clearly have no interest whatsoever in talking to you.”

That startles a laugh out of Nicky. He looks back at Yusuf, whose grin widens. _God_ , Nicky thinks, almost dizzy, _he’s beautiful._

And then Yusuf is kissing him.

_Yusuf is kissing him._

For a second, Nicky thinks he’s in the middle of a dream again—the kind of dream where a sexy, erudite, poetic, artistic man actually finds him, Nicolò di Genova, a scientist who has nothing to offer beyond _hey, do you want to know about OX40?_ , desirable. But if it’s a dream, then he’ll close his eyes and surrender himself to it.

“Nicolò,” Yusuf murmurs against his lips, and unlike everyone else in the U.S. he pronounces Nicky’s name perfectly because of _course_ he would, he’s a freaking multi-talented polyglot, and even though a shiver of pleasure races down Nicky’s spine there’s also a cold feeling too, a feeling of _Dio Santo this isn’t a dream, it’s real, it’s actually happening_.

And—okay, if Nile were here, she’d probably lecture him about “self-sabotaging” and “unbelievably low self-esteem” and “just because your godawful family kicked you to the curb doesn’t mean you should expect to be disappointed by everyone you meet, have you considered maybe talking to a therapist, Nicky”—but he can’t help the fear that curls at the back of his tongue, acrid and sour, and that makes him draw back.

“I’m sorry,” Yusuf says, because he’s a gentleman and Nicky is an anxious walking disaster.

“No, it’s—” Another nervous laugh bubbles out of him, which certainly isn’t going to make him seem any more normal to Yusuf. “I just...keep expecting to wake up and realize this is all a dream.”

Yusuf cocks his head to the side. “Why?”

“Well, you’re—” Nicky gestures at him and blurts out, with his usual lack of eloquence, “— _amazing_. You’re an artist and a fantastic speaker and a brilliant cook. I’m just—I spend most of my time in the lab, and then I come home late, eat some takeout, and pass out on my couch while watching Netflix.”

Yusuf raises an eyebrow. “You have a PhD in immunology, _Dr._ di Genova.”

“Well, yes, but—”

“You’re establishing yourself in an extremely competitive field. You’re clearly dedicated to your research, you’re—if recent reports are to be believed—getting better at cooking, and—” Yusuf’s eyes crinkle with a smile, “—you’ve left the kindest comments on my YouTube videos. So no, Nicolò, this is definitely _not_ a dream. I’m really here, sitting in your apartment, telling you that you’re the most amazing man I’ve ever met.”

Nicky might not be breathing. But who needs oxygen, anyway, when he has this gorgeous, incredible man right in front of him?

Yusuf’s hand settles on his hip, and Nicky leans toward him, fingers sliding through the soft curls at the nape of Yusuf’s neck as their lips meet in the most perfect kiss of Nicky’s life.

_Transcript from deleted footage_

YUSUF: Hey, everyone! I’m Joe from Not Your Average Joe’s Cooking, and today I have a special guest. Please welcome Dr. di Genova!

NICKY: Do you really have to introduce me that way?

YUSUF: Nicolò, habibi, we talked about this…

NICKY: Yeah, but I’m going to be so embarrassed when you introduce me as “Dr.” and I fail at cooking on camera. Why am I doing this again?

YUSUF: Because you’ll be great for my ratings.

NICKY: Yeah, right.

YUSUF: I’m serious. Having a sexy Italian man in my videos is going to do wonders. 

NICKY: (choking noise)

YUSUF: Besides, you’re not going to fail. You’re going to be great.

NILE (offscreen): Ahem. Not that you guys aren’t adorable, but do you really want this video to have two minutes of you guys making heart eyes at each other…?

YUSUF: (coughs) Right. I guess we should probably redo this intro.

(Cut)

YUSUF: Today, in honor of our guest, we’re making trofie with pesto alla genovese. Pesto was invented in Genoa…

NICKY: Which is where I grew up. I have a lot of great memories of eating pasta with pesto when I was a kid. Trofie with pesto is a quintessential Genoese dish.

YUSUF: Now, the traditional recipe for pesto is garlic, pine nuts, salt, hard cheese, basil leaves, and olive oil. By the way, I bought a special olive oil for this. It’s supposed to be really good. Here, try it.

NICKY: Mm. _Mmm_. Oh my God, that olive oil is delicious.

NILE (offscreen): (muttering) Nicky, I’m pretty sure that noise you just made should be illegal...

(Cut)

YUSUF: And...voila! Trofie with pesto alla genovese.

NICKY: It looks beautiful. (laughs nervously) Hopefully it tastes okay. And you won’t, um, drop dead from food poisoning or something.

YUSUF: I’m sure I won’t. Okay, here goes. _Mm_...the trofie really is the perfect compliment for pesto. The richness of the olive oil counterbalances the fragrance of the basil.

NICKY: So...you liked it?

YUSUF: It was perfect, ya hayati.

NICKY: I’m so glad. Though I couldn’t have done it without you, you know.

YUSUF: Mmm...

NILE (offscreen): Guys...you realize you’re still on camera, right? Guys?

**Author's Note:**

> NIH = National Institutes of Health, the US government agency that funds a lot of research in the country.
> 
> I have family members who are scientists, but I am not a scientist, so any mistakes are mine. I am also (like Nicky in this fic) clueless when it comes to cooking and all my knowledge comes from Google/Wikipedia, so any mistakes there are also mine.
> 
> Also, I just have to say, when I think of "YouTuber Joe," I picture him [looking like this](https://www.eonline.com/ca/news/871511/marwan-kenzari-to-play-jafar-in-disney-s-live-action-aladdin) in his videos (you're welcome).


End file.
